A Fire Still Burns
by Sir Alwick
Summary: Repost: A sequel to The Crime of Passion.


**_A/N: _**This story is a sequel to my previous effort _The Crime of Passion_, so it's probably best you read that one first if you haven't already. I originally posted this story several months back but took it down once I realized I didn't know where I was going with it. I'm reposting it now as a favor to one of my readers and because I still think there's a story here to write. As of right now though, I'm not sure when the next update will be.

**I**

From a very early age Grayson knew his destiny. He was a hero, a purveyor of truth and justice. He fought criminals. He protected those that were in danger. Losing his parents at such a young age was painful, but tragedy did not define his life. At sixteen years old he had already seen to the capture of the man responsible for their deaths. Closure was not an issue; he already had it. He could have given up his costumed life right then and there, surrendered his mask to focus on school or work. He could have grown old and fat and slow. He could have had the same normal life as any man, but instead he chose to keep his mask. He chose to continue the fight, and so the day came that he decided to venture out on his own, use the skills he'd learned to help others and right the wrongs of the world however he could. That was his reason for living. For this he'd been trained. For this he'd been built. Nothing else. Mask or man. There was no in between.

"Nearly fifteen years later, it amazes me how stupid I was."

**II**

There were four in total, dressed to the nines for late night burglary, done up sharp in black gloves and ski hats, all decked out in black sweatshirts and jeans (all except for the one guy who apparently thought very, very dark blue was close enough). Through the lenses of his binoculars their miniature figures became full size. With a simple adjustment they grew larger still and with a keen eye he could take in each and every one of their faces in minute detail. They were a scruffy bunch with lots of unshaven cheeks and sour expressions. Two of them kept lookout on the street, a third sat in the getaway vehicle: a beat up, old four-door sedan. The fourth stood precariously up on the top rung of an eight foot ladder, fiddling with the store's security box. Their lips moved and through the directional microphone their voices came through clear as day light.

"How long is this gonna take?"

"Will ya shut up! Just a few more wires."

"I'm sick of waiting."

"Look, in case you ain't noticed things is changin' around here. The cops actually give a damn now, and I ain't goin to Stateside just cause you can't wait one lousy freakin minute."

"No one's going to Stateside. _You_ keep working on that alarm. _You_…just shut your goddamn mouth and keep your eyes open."

It would have been easy to take them down then and there. He could have left the tape for the police. The intent was clear enough, but instead he waited. He wanted them in the store. He wanted them to knock over the register, to shuffle the goods out into their getaway vehicle. He wanted evidence strong enough to hold a monster truck, to the point where they couldn't slip through the cracks no matter what shit-eating lawyer represented them. He wanted-

They were already in the store, not even halfway through the real meat of their crime when the shrill cry started. Alarm bells went off and suddenly the goons were all looking at one another with angry, panicked expressions. "You idiot," came roaring over the microphone and it became abundantly clear the guy hired to get past security was not nearly as adept as he appeared. With pockets and bags half stuffed with jewelry they ran for the door. They bolted for the sedan. Within seconds they peeled away.

From the rooftop across the street Grayson watched them go. His mouth hung slack, staggered at how it all transpired. It happened so fast, so surprisingly fast, it actually managed to catch him off guard, and for a few seconds all he could do was watch as the motley crew bolted down the street, swerving back and forth as their tires squealed on the pavement. Sometimes, life is just there to give you a good chuckle. Shrugging his shoulders, holstering his binoculars, he stood. Time to go to work.

The police in Bludhaven had made a significant comeback in recent years, cracking down on crime and implementing new zero tolerance policies regarding violent offenders, but still they couldn't be everywhere. Life was tough for straight arrows in Bludhaven. The scum still had run of the place and the true war for the city was still being fought, and for four years strong, Nightwing was its best weapon. Richard "Dick" Grayson: age 31, protégé of the legendary Batman, co-founder of the original Teen Titans, and currently in hot pursuit.

With a running start he leapt from the ledge high atop the old tenement building. He fell faster and harder with each passing second as he raced towards the city street below, his legs straight and his arms tucked into his sides. Thrusting his arms out perpendicular to his body, he clenched his fists, and with a small flick of his wrists, a pair of highly durable blue glider wings shot for from the folds of his uniform. Gripping the stiffened memory cloth, he arched his back and immediately took off soaring back up into the air. Getting some altitude, tucking his limbs back into his body he barrel rolled through a narrow alleyway, coming clean out the other side. With incredible speed and grace he slalomed around buildings and over rooftops, keeping the fleeing sedan in his sights.

The burglars no doubt thought they had made their getaway right up until Grayson came swooping down on top of them, landing with a hard thump on the roof of their vehicle. With the windows down he heard layered cries of "What the hell was that?" Leaning down over the roof, he looked in through the windshield.

"Hey," he greeted pleasantly. He smiled as he pointed to the right and asked, "You guys wouldn't mind pulling over to the side, would you?" There were wide eyed stares then the driver took aim with a dark gray glock 42 and fired. Grayson saw the shot coming from a mile away and was already out of danger as the bullet tore through the windshield, creating a spider web of broken glass and half blinding those inside the sedan. "Just thought I'd ask," called Grayson

The rest of the group were not wasting any time. Quickly following the driver's lead, each drew his firearm and began shooting up at the roof. Dodging and weaving, Grayson danced around the shots, before somersaulting off of the vehicle. As he tucked and rolled he took aim with his grapple gun. He fired. His hook latched onto the sedan's axel and before the line could tighten he fastened the other end to a nearby telephone pole. With a sharp metallic pop the rear axel was torn from the car. Sparks and chucks of asphalt leapt into the air as the vehicle dragged ass along the ground before spinning out of control and busting its front wheels on the sidewalk.

Grayson approached the vehicle. The doors opened and the thugs began stumbling out of the car. Groaning, trying to stop the world from spinning, two of them took aim with their firearms. Bullets ripped through the air as Grayson sped along the ground, quickly ducking into an alley and taking cover behind a dumpster. Not so much preoccupied with escaping as they were just moments ago, the thieves were now out for blood. They sprayed bullets into the dumpster, praying at least one would find its mark. Staying concealed, Grayson let their wild firing continue for a moment or two then drew a trio of smoke bombs from his belt. The thieves didn't see it coming until it was too late. With a bang-buh-bang the area was suddenly blanketed in plumes of thick, white smoke. Covering their mouths, coughing into their fists, the thieves sought safety, but found Grayson instead. Like a hurricane of feet and fists, he attacked. He knocked the weapons from their hands. Fast and efficient, he drove his foot into the gut of the thief directly in front of him, then without losing momentum and using the same foot, delivered a kick to the one behind him. Spinning on his heels he delivered an elbow strike to the third. The fourth came at him with a broken off piece of metal from the sedan's underside. His attacks were wild and ungainly and Grayson was more than capable of dodging each one. One of the crooks got hands back on his firearm. Not even taking time to aim he fired, scaring the hell out of his ally.

"Watch it, you idiot!" was all the first thief could get out before Grayson KO'ed him.

Drawing a bird-a-rang, Grayson knocked the weapon from the other crook's hand then floored him with a running jump kick. Standing over him he grabbed him by the collar. He lifted him up, looked into his face, and searched his swollen eyes for anymore signs of defiance. Finding none, he let him go. There was a metallic click and over his shoulder he spotted the last remaining thief. His nose bleeding, holding his chest with one hand, he pointed a trembling weapon at Grayson with the other.

"You-you stay right there," he shot. His voice was sharp. His eyes were wild. He was panicked.

"You really think that's a good idea?" asked Grayson calmly.

The crook grit his teeth. Grayson could see the muscles in his arm tighten, but before he could pull the trigger the gun leapt from his hand. Crying out in pain, the man held his wrist. Fresh blood ran down his fingers as his weapon stuck into the ground, spinning by its trigger guard on the shaft of a single, stubby crossbow bolt. Quickly Grayson struck, snatching the man by his injured wrist and twisting it behind his back. The dull grinding of bone on bone followed and in a heartbeat the man was crying "Uncle."

She came from above, her cloak billowing out behind her. Her hair was long and dark and her fair skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her body was strong and sleek, hugged in a tight purple and black uniform, and her sharp, blue eyes sparkled from behind a dark purple mask. Her red painted lips pulled back into an elegant but mysterious smile as she approached.

"Huntress," greeted Grayson, not taking his eyes off the downed criminal.

"Nightwing," she answered with a playful smirk.

Bending the crook at the elbow, Grayson bound the fallen man's hands behind his back. "I didn't think I'd run into you tonight."

"Awww, is that all I get? I figured you'd be a little more grateful. After all I just saved your life."

"Not really," answered Grayson, his eyes still on his work. "His gun was empty." He tightened the hard, plastic restraints around the thief's wrists. "Now _his_ on the other hand..."

Huntress was already two steps ahead. Quick as The Flash she turned, disarmed the attacker with an impeccably precise spin kick. A series of sharp smacks followed as she let loose on him with a barrage of punches and chops then thrust the point of her elbow into his chest, knocking the wind as well as the rest of the fight from his body. As the criminal fell to his knees and keeled over, the masked woman looked over her shoulder at Grayson. She smiled and said, "I got it."

Grayson smiled despite himself as he continued his work, rounding up the rest of the thieves. "Sounds like you cracked a few ribs on that last blow," he said, the tone of his voice slightly chastising.

"And?"

"He was already on his last legs. There was no need to be so rough."

Huntress sighed impatiently. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and said, "You know I'll never understand how someone so talented can be so damn..._soft_." She came up behind him just as he finished cuffing the last criminal. She stepped into him as he turned and all at once her masked face was mere inches from his. "Admit it though," she cooed. "You like it when I'm rough."

Grayson felt his heart beat quicken as he said, "Not particularly." He paused for a moment then quickly added, "But that's not to say you don't have other admirable qualities."

"Oh?"

He nodded.

"Like what?"

"Your iron will. Your methodical planning. The way you always manage to stay calm in the heat of battle." Very briefly his eyes wandered to the black leather curves of her uniform. "Your well toned…fighting style."

Huntress smiled devilishly as her lips inched their way closer to his. She snaked her arms around Grayson's neck as all his thoughts disappeared and he focused completely on the moment. His hands moved to her hips. Their eyes closed. Their heads tilted.

Like a rolling fog the shrill call of police sirens in the distance came creeping in, filling their ears, demanding attention.

"Goddammit!" cursed Huntress loudly. Stepping out of Grayson's arms she faced away put her hands on her hips. "Ugh! So close," she griped, kicking a bullet casing.

Grayson rubbed the inside of his ringing ear with his index finger. He smiled awkwardly and then suggested that they leave. Huntress reluctantly agreed and the two were gone before the lights of the police cruisers could reach them.

**III**

"I scoped out that warehouse on 52nd you mentioned."

"Find anything?"

"It was just as you said. The place is a rat's nest. Stolen goods, weapons smuggling, you name it."

"Alright then. I guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow. Should I count on you to tag along?"

"Mmmm, I might drop in if I find the time."

Bringing his toes to the end of the ledge, looking out over the quiet cityscape, Grayson felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. The sun would be up in an hour or so, and a late night/early morning hush had fallen, giving the hardened city an uncommon feeling of tranquility. Over the years, Grayson had taught himself to always stop and appreciate moments like these.

"The ol' girl was actually pretty quiet tonight," he remarked. "It was a good night."

"I guess," said Huntress, not entirely seeing his point. She finished reloading and holstered her crossbow. "I think I'll take one last spin around the block. You coming? Maybe there's still a chance we could turn your good night into a great one."

Grayson almost hated himself for doing so, but somehow he managed to shake his head, no. "Sorry," he said. "I've got somewhere I need to be."

"Where's that?"

"Top secret."

His choice of words intrigued the masked woman. "Oooh, a secret mission."

"I can't take you with me…" answered Grayson almost as if reading her mind, "…at least not yet."

"Why?" She smiled playfully. "Is it dangerous?"

Grayson was quiet for a moment as he looked into the middle distance and answered, "It's of the utmost importance."

**IV**

The kitchen was awash with the delicious scent of eggs frying. Bacon sizzled away in one pan while a heaping helping of home fries browned in another. The various scents combined to create an aroma that dazzled the senses and could turn even the most stringent vegetarian into a carnivore. Picking up his spatula, Grayson scooped and rotated the home fries. He was ready to start prepping the table when there quickly came the sound of light footfalls and soon a tiny voice was calling to him.

"Daddeeeey," it said. The little girl squealed loudly as soon as she entered. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy." Her long black hair danced up and down along the back of her little pink nightgown as she bounced across the living room rug into the kitchen

Grayson quickly put a finger to his lips. "Mar'i," he said, gently shushing her.

Understanding the gesture, Mar'i put her own finger to her lips and giggled. Grayson smiled. He held out his arms and on cue, the three-year-old levitated off the ground and up into his waiting embrace. "You made breffast?" the little girl asked.

"Of course," answered Grayson. "Don't I always?"

"Uhhhhmmmm, I don't know."

"Of course I do, you big silly."

"I'm not silly. You're silly."

"No, you're silly. Mar'i is silly."

"No, no, no. You're silly, Daddy."

Grayson kissed the girl's cheek, making her giggle. "Mmm," he said. "You know you taste so good I think I'll just have you for breakfast."

The girl giggled again. "Nooooo," she laughed.

"Yup. I'm gonna have Mar'i for breakfast."

"Daaadddeey. You can't eat a person."

"Yes I can. I'm gonna eat you." Mar'i struggled in his grasp. Contorting her small body she wrestled her way out of his hands and hovered toward the ceiling. "Can't hide from me up there," her father called. Standing on his tip toes he made a reach for her. Mar'i giggled as she maneuvered through the air, avoiding his grasp a few times but ultimately losing her pink socked foot to his strong fingers. The little girl laughed her defiance with a high pitched, "Nooooo," before being pulled once again into her father's embrace. He smothered her with kisses all over her cheeks and neck as her laughter filled the room.

"And just what is all this commotion?"

Attention was drawn to the kitchen entryway to find a sleepy eyed Starfire making her way in. The alien woman gave a small stretch and stifled a yawn as she entered then greeted the two with a soft smile. "If I did not know better I would swear the Festival of the New Year was occurring right in my own home."

"Morning mommy," called Mar'i, immediately floating from her father's arms to hers.

Starfire welcomed her with a warm hug and a kiss on the head. "Good morning, my little one," she answered.

Turning, pointing at the stove, Mar'i said, "Look! Daddy made breffast. Daddy always makes breffast."

Starfire looked at Grayson and smiled. "Yes," she agreed. "He does."

"Morning Star," said Grayson pleasantly.

Even with sleep in her eyes and her hair a mess, Grayson couldn't deny Starfire's beauty. The smallest smile from her and he melted a little inside. She'd always had that effect on him and he imagined she always would, and quite frankly he was fine with that. So long as that smile was always there for him, he was happy.

"Good morning, Richard," answered Starfire. Taking notice of his clothing, she smirked and arched a playful eyebrow.

Grayson followed her gaze, chuckled and scratched the back of his head. He had removed his mask, but still had on his Nightwing apparel, complete with scuffs and dirt smears from the night before. "Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "I know. I'm a bit of a mess. I was running a little late."

Starfire only smiled. "Worry not, Richard. It is quite alright. I take it you had a busy night."

"It was fine. Nothing major. Most of the unpleasantness came at the end, but other than that..."

A pan sizzled and smoked and remembering his cooking, Grayson quickly attended to it.

"You know you may always make use of the shower if you wish," said Starfire after watching him for a moment.

Unable to help himself, for a moment Grayson's mind ventured at the thought of being naked in Starfire's apartment and all that might entail. "Nah, that's okay," he answered. "I'm just about done here, and frankly I..am…starving. I'll just shower at home." Looking over his shoulder, he faced Mar'i and asked, "You and mommy want to set the table?"

"Mar'i nodded, answered, "Yah," and quickly floated out of her mother's arms towards the cabinets.

The table was set and drinks were poured. The three of them took their seats.

It was a good night, one of the last any of them would know for a while. From their happy, little home on Earth they were blind, but off in the distance a fire burned. And it was getting closer.


End file.
